Youngest Son
by Alix Cohen
Summary: At the time of Rome's death, Britannia had four sons. This is the story of how the youngest became a great Nation. FrUK, ArthurxElizabeth
1. youngest son

**A/N: Notice that England is neither Arthur nor Britain in this story. Arthur is Briton's boss, and England is not yet the United Kingdom.**

Britannia was a servant in the house of Rome. At the time of Rome's death, she had four sons. Scotland was the eldest, a dark, proud boy. Wales was just as proud as his brother, and the two fought often. Youngest were twins, Eire and Angle-Land. While her elder sons made war, on each other, on the Gauls, and on the Norse, Britannia taught her green-eyed youngest sons the secrets of her land and her magic. They would explore the islands together, these happy three; graceful as the unicorn, carefree as the dancing fae.

Yet all too soon, Britannia grew weak; and on the day of her death, she blessed her four sons in the name of the earth itself. Angle-land, the youngest and strongest, felt the power in her blessing, and stayed with her to the end; his twin was more easily swayed by their brothers, and went off with them to drink away their sorrows. Burying his mother alone, young Angle-land vowed that he would never forget Brittania and her magic.

Life after that was hard. Scotland and Wales divided the islands between themselves, giving Eire a whole one of his own and leaving Angle-land only the swampy south. Even Eire now acted superior to Angle-land, since he had been accepted by his older brothers. The fight that ended their friendship came barely a century after their mother's death, when Eire accused Angle-land of selling his soul to the Fae. It was not entirely false; the fae were his only true friends. That was the day Angle-land left his brothers' house for good. He built himself a smaller house in the woods and tended his mother's grave.

It was about that time that he met the boy from across the channel. France son of Gaul came to visit, and was quite friendly to Angle-land until he decided that his new friend's clothes and lifestyle, and even his name were ridiculous and provincial.

"Ahngulll-land? Is there a trick to pronouncing it—something you do with your tongue, perhaps? You must have a more fashionable name if you want to be respected as a country. I shall call you Angland." And he laughed and skipped off.

(Later he would realize that he could not pronounce "Angland" in French, and began to call him "Angleterre" (Angle-land). But the younger boy found his new name—England—much nicer.)

* * *

England lived quite peacefully on his own for centuries more. He had little to do with other nations, or with humans, until he was visited one day by the Briton tribe. The unexpected sound of horses called him from his house, and on one of the horses, he saw a tall regal human warlord. A Nation rode beside him, dressed as a bard.

"Who does this forest belong to, boy?" said the warlord, who saw England as a human child.

"It's my mother's," young England replied. "She is buried here, in this clearing."

"So this place is yours?" The warlord looked surprised.

The nation understood, and said to him, "He speaks the truth, Arthur. This is sacred ground."

The warlord, visibly puzzled, asked England his name. The boy racked his brains for a suitable human name, but could only remember the one which had just been said. "Arthur, sir," he said. "Arthur of…of the land."

"Well, Arthur of the Land," said Arthur the Briton warlord, "what am I to do with you?" England was taken aback—no human had ever spoken this way to him.

"Make him your servant," the Nation suggested. "He surely knows much about the land, and can help you advance. Besides, you keep telling me you need a page—"

"All right, Merlyn, you've read my mind again," Arthur laughed. "Come, boy."

England was excited by the prospect of battles and adventures, but he was suddenly uncertain. "Sir, may I say goodbye to my mother first?"

Merlyn spoke before Arthur could. "Of course you may."

As England approached Britannia's grave, he thought, _who is this man, and who is his Nation? Should I go with them? What will happen to me?_ He knelt, and a passing sprite giggled and imitated him.

Then he heard his mother's voice in his head, seeming to come from everywhere at once. _Go with the Britons, my son. Teach them my ways, and they will make you a great nation._

Britannia's voice echoed and faded, and the sprite dashed away. England stood, feeling stronger, and raced back to the Britons. "I'm ready, sir," he said.

* * *

Years passed, but the child who was England barely noticed. Briton, whom the humans called Merlyn, taught England how to act as a nation, and in return England taught Briton his mother's magic. As Arthur of the Land, England advised Arthur, tended his horse and weapons, and trained as a warrior.

One Midsummer Eve, Briton and England left their tribe and sneaked away to a nearby village. There, they stole a sword from the smithy. England enchanted it so that only he and Arthur could wield it, and thrust it into the boulder that marked the center of the village square. The two Nations returned to their camp confident that news about the sword in the stone would reach Arthur.

He heard about it at midmorning, when the Britons reached the village. Several strong men had already tried to pull the sword from the stone, to no avail. "Why don't you try, sir?" England suggested innocently.

Arthur glanced at Briton, who nodded. "All right," he said, "you haven't been wrong yet," and he reached for the sword, which seemed to jump into his hand on its own. The villagers cheered what looked like superhuman strength, and soon the village's elders came to pledge their loyalty to Arthur, Lord of the Britons.

Other conquests followed, and Briton's magic and musical talents quickly made him legendary as well. With each victory, on or off the battlefield, England felt himself growing stronger.

Briton formed a council of the villages that Arthur conquered, and after few years had passed, all decided that Arthur should be made a king. The coronation was held at Britannia's grave, outside the house England had built.

Inside the house, a smaller but no-less-important ceremony was happening. England's brothers came to swear sarcastic fealty, then left looking for a tavern. France, whom England had talked into witnessing, laughed to himself as Briton knelt to place a wreath on young England's head and gave him the title of Britain. And England knew that wherever his mother was, she was proud of him.


	2. where no one could see him

England lived in relative peace for a century or two, ruled by Arthur's descendants. He fought with the Vikings sometimes, but in between life was very nice. Then one day, France appeared on his doorstep, frantic.

"There you are, kid! So glad to see you. The Church says the world's going to end next year!" England was confused. The world couldn't end; it had always existed, and it always would.

"You don't get it, _petit ami_. We're. Going. To. Die. In the year One Thousand. The Church said so. And I just _know_ I'm going to hell."

"What makes you so sure?" Britain had been Christian for centuries, but he still wasn't certain he believed in hell.

"…never mind. The point is, I'm going to die with dreams unfulfilled!"

"What dreams?"

"Well, for one thing, I've always wanted to conquer you." France jumped at England, knocking him to the floor and sitting on him.

England struggled. "You bloody idiot! Get off me!"

"But the world is ending!"

"All right, all right, the world's ending. I'll let you have your fun, since it's so little time, now _get off me!_"

….

Since France couldn't stand the islands' weather, England moved into France's house soon thereafter. 999 was quite a good year, except that France's paranoia began to rub off on England, and without the reassuring presence of his mother's spirit, he too began to worry that he was going to die soon.

Christmas eve was a tense night for both of them, since the end of the world could be as little as a week away. Both Nations tried to pretend that it wasn't, but late in the evening, in front of the fire, France asked England a question that had been on his mind for days.

"Kid, you don't want to die a virgin, right?"

Young England didn't know what a "virgin" was, and said so.

"It means a child, not yet a man. Like you, kid. And, I admit, like me. And I don't know about you, but I don't want to die as one."

"Well, how do you change that?"

"There's this thing married couples do. And more people did it, in Rome's empire." He stood up. "Bank the fire, let's go upstairs and try it. I've got a fair idea of how it works."

England finally figured out what his friend was talking about, and it upset him. "What do you think I am, a bloody woman?"

"They did it in Rome."

"But why?"

France even had an answer to that. "Because everyone I've asked says it's fun. And I don't know about you, but I think we're entitled to a little fun before the world ends."

…

"France?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"That hurt."

"I'm sorry! I didn't expect—"

"France?"

"What?"

"Do it again."

"…Oh. _Mais oui_."

…..

Waking up on Christmas Day, England was briefly disoriented. When he remembered where he was, he thought wryly that he was glad France's servants had the day off. It would have been awkward, explaining to any of them what he was doing in France's bed.

Then the moral implications of last night hit him. The bishops called it "sodomy," and punished it with a horrible death and eternal damnation. He had sinned. He had sinned and enjoyed it. For a moment, he was scared. Then he looked at France, who was still asleep, and wondered if maybe hell weren't so bad. _At least I won't be alone there,_ he thought.

…

The year 1000 was an even better year for the two teenaged Nations than the year before. Although they were constantly worried that they would be sent to hell without warning, they had discovered that they loved each other, which, France was always quick to remind England, would not have happened without an impending apocalypse.

Then, all of a sudden, it was the New Year, a new millennium, and the world hadn't ended. England awoke to France's excited shout. "Kid, we're alive! It's a new year, and we're alive! Happy One Thousand One!"

For almost a month they were both madly in love, and ecstatic that they weren't in hell. But then England began to feel cheated. France said he'd only want to have conquered him through the Apocalypse; now that could be any time. It could be after they were both _dead_, for God's sake! He couldn't stay in France's house that long; he had to go home! He told France as much, at the very end of January, with his bag already packed.

"I'm sorry, kid," France said. "I didn't mean to—I believed it—I just wanted to be happy—"

"Yes, but did you ever think about how I felt?"

"You felt the same as I do."

"Well, I don't anymore. I have a life to live; I'm going home."

And he did. France called after him, but England refused to hear him. It wasn't until he reached his own house, and his mother's grave, that he allowed himself to think about what France had said: "_Je t'aime_, kid."

He cried then, where no one could see him, and wished that his mother were still alive to comfort him, and that he could be a child again.

…

The years that followed were not easy for England. No sooner than he had gotten used to being alone again, a stranger came to his house.

The man was called Denmark. He was tall, and wore black, and declared himself king of England.

"What?" England yelped. "You can't do that—I'm England!"

"Are you?" Denmark chuckled. "I'm sure you'll enjoy being my territory." England was speechless. "My king has already taken over, so you have nothing to worry about."

England was ashamed. He had spent a decade feeling sorry for himself, and this was what happened!

He did not enjoy living under Danish rule. Although Denmark mostly left him alone, he would often command England to serve his king in some impossible task. Once during this time, he was ordered to teach the Danish king to stop the tide from coming in. Britannia herself had taught England long ago that this could not be done; the ocean was neither man, fey, nor nation, and took orders from no one. But when England tried to explain this, Denmark became angry.

Denmark wasn't particularly fearsome when he was angry; he acted sort of like Wales. But it was this comparison to his brother that unnerved England, and he rushed off to the mouth of the Thames to make up a story for King Canute.

As the King waved his arms and shouted silly things at the ocean in England's language, England realized that he had to do something to get Denmark out of his business. He knew he wasn't strong enough to drive him out on his own, and none of his brothers would help him…Briton had died with Arthur, as the people began to think of themselves as English.

There was one more Nation he could call on…no. He couldn't go back so soon…but it was either him or another generation of Danish rule. He decided.

England waited until the Danes were not looking his way, then ran away up the coast. He stepped across the Channel, and ran to Paris—

—where he was welcomed with open arms. "Kid! I knew you'd come back—what've you been up to?"

England pushed past him. "This isn't the time, France; I need help. Denmark has taken over my country; he's been pushing me around for fifty years, and I need to get rid of him. I…I can't do it on my own."

"Well, military aid is definitely something I can provide. On one condition." France's eyes lit up, as if he'd just had a wonderful idea.

Britain was confused. "What sort of condition?"

"That I get to live with you for a while, kid."

"What? …Isn't it a little…soon for that?"

"Look…kid…I love you. And I want to help you. Is taking me back, for a little while, is trying again too much to ask?"

England didn't answer.

France interpreted his silence as agreement. "All right then. The Danish king in your house is dying, no heir. So we find a Frenchman who's related to the king—not hard to do—lay claim to the throne—in your name, of course—and we fight it out. What are we waiting for?"

…..

Once France had persuaded the Duke of Normandy that he would become king of England, the man was more than happy to help. He sent letter after letter to the English royal council, asserting his English heritage and the fakeness of the new king. Not only, he said, had King Edward made him his heir, but Harold (who now wore the crown) had brought him the message _and_ sworn a sacred oath to support the Duke. Which Harold had now broken. France chuckled when he heard that the Duke's letter had even convinced the Pope to take France's side. "See, kid? This is what we call _progress_."

France and England invaded in October of 1066, and in a field near Hastings, killed the Danish pretenders quickly. But the battle weakened England—the Saxons, who had fought for the Danes, were his people—so by the time he realized that France had broken his promise, it was too late. That Christmas, Duke William of Normandy was crowned king of England.

…

**A/N: **At the beginning of this chapter, France believes he's going to hell for having always wanted to conquer England. If you know what I mean.


	3. not your territory

**A/N:** I'd like to dedicate the last part of this chapter to my mom, who swears she's never disappointed in me. Love you!

France lost no time in making himself at home in England's house. The first thing he did was go through England's closet and throw out everything he didn't think was stylish enough. When England protested, France looked at him very seriously and said, "Kid, we're part of history. You have to move with the times."

"But I like where I am—"

"Here, try this on."

That conversation was in French, of course; one law that France had urged William to pass was the one that made French the official language of England. So England had to learn it, because his people were.

As decades passed, and the Normans became more and more a part of England's culture, England found himself feeling less uncomfortable with France's presence in his home. He even approved of France's decision to send Englishmen to liberate the Holy Land from the Arabs. But there were two things that always bothered him.

First was the fact that France made all the important decisions. When he had asked France for help expelling Denmark, England had expected that he could go back to running his own country. But this was merely annoying compared to the second thing.

France seemed to think that he and England were still the same happy couple that they had been a century earlier. As if to prove it to himself, he became almost obscenely clingy somewhere in the middle of the twelfth century. He couldn't seem to be in a different room from England for more than half an hour. England would have called it woman's troubles…except that France was no woman, and that it lasted for decades.

France had also developed a habit of playing with England's hair that England found annoying. _Then_ it became a fascination with England's eyebrows. Yes, he had more eyebrow than the average human, but they were nothing to stare at. Certainly not pet caterpillars, that France seemed to think he could pet any time he wanted. And _definitely_ not in line to be plucked. The whole French style was getting out of hand.

And speaking of out of hand, France had gotten…creative…in bed. Whenever he wanted to try something new, he would explain impatiently that it was a Roman or Egyptian or somebody else's custom, and for the sake of the experience, s'il te plaît, amour—and England suddenly couldn't say no.

And it led to long nights alone in the dark, with France peacefully asleep beside him, and England cursing quietly, sometimes in pain, always regretting what he'd let that bastard do to him.

But England was worried that he was safer with France; if the bastard left, someone else would take him over, and so for a hundred years and more he was unable to tell France how he felt.

But the noble families eventually grew tired of the French-born king taxing them as heavily as he did, and in the year twelve-fifteen, they gave England a chance to free himself.

…

"France? Salut. I need you to sign this."

"What is it, mon cher?"

"A contract. From the aristocracy."

"What are those idiots shoving at me this time?"

"The king signed it."

So France signed as well, barely looking at what was on the parchment. England took it back and, laughing, pointed to a passage.

France stared at it. "Qu'est-ce que c'est? You know my Latin is not good…"

Britain translated it into French. "The city of London shall enjoy all its ancient liberties and free customs, both by land and by water. We also will and grant that all other cities, boroughs, towns, and ports shall enjoy all their liberties and free customs." He grinned viciously.

"And what do they mean by that, mon cher?"

"They mean it's _my_ job to collect taxes. Not _yours_." He rolled up the parchment and poked France in the chest with it.

France was stunned. But England was just getting started.

"I've wanted to say this for a hundred years now. I'm not your territory, and I want my house back. Get out of my bed, frog; and get out of my life."

A long silence followed.

France finally found something to say. "Kid…I thought…I didn't realize you were unhappy…"

"Yes, and now you know. Now pack up."

…

The house was peaceful with France gone. Maybe too peaceful. England started to regret what he'd said to France. But he didn't _want_ to regret it. He shouldn't regret it. He'd meant every word. But…

He began training hard, to distract himself, and picked fights with his brothers. In twelve eighty-three he finally defeated Wales, and annexed him. Flush with this victory, he challenged Scotland. And lost, badly.

_If only_, he thought, trudging home with the human survivors, _if only France were here to help me prove myself._ And was suddenly very angry at himself for even having the thought.

He sprinted home, forgetting his army, and locked himself in his bedroom.

The next few years were hell for England. His king was useless, he couldn't stop thinking about France, _and_ he was ill for three years. During that time, he never saw anyone but the fae, the children and grandchildren of the sprites his mother had introduced him to long ago. Gradually, he began to think less of France and more about Britannia, until it dawned on him one morning what a jackass he'd been to his own country.

He dashed outside, knelt at his mother's grave, and crossed himself (a habit he'd picked up from France), squinting into the sunrise.

He spoke quickly. "Mother, I have sinned. I have forgotten you, and neglected my people. I have forgotten myself and allowed foreigners to take advantage of me.

"I have disappointed you. How can I redeem myself? Will you ever forgive me?" He waited, head bowed, hands clasped, desperate for an answer.

And then he heard her, from somewhere, from everywhere. His mother's voice, clear and sweet as if she were still alive.

"You have not disappointed me, England. All children need to run away from home. And they always come back. We all love, and we all lose; and from losing, we learn." Britain nodded, tears in his eyes.

"You are stronger now, for everything you have done. But there is much left to do. Go to your people, England."

A cloud passed over the sun. Something chirped in the forest. England stood and thought for a moment. Then he strode off, in the direction of the village where he had once planted a sword in a stone. The people there would help him relearn to speak his own language.

**A/N:** "Qu'est-ce que c'est?" is pronounced "kess-k-SAY" and means "What is it?"

Magna Carta excerpt courtesy of Fordham University.


	4. acquit himself best

Another generation passed, and England worked hard on becoming closer to his own people. He learned to speak and write English again, and took the name Arthur Kirkland for working with humans. He also began to learn how to live with his brother. Wales was still proud, but he acknowledged that England had beat him fairly, and respected him for it.

In the thirteen thirties, England negotiated his first succession crisis, and did so without unnecessary bloodshed. Wales offered to buy him a drink to celebrate. They were not close—it had been too little time—but England accepted. Around Wales, he still felt like the little boy who always seemed to be in his brothers' way, and he was eager to please, for the sake of peace within the family.

Unfortunately, England still only drank very rarely; what his brother called "a drink" he experienced as several rounds, each more dizzying than the one before it. Eventually he remembered France, and, his tongue loosened, began to tell Wales about the beautiful bastard across the Channel.

The tavern door crashed open, and a messenger tumbled in, red-faced and breathless. The bartender handed him a pint, which he gulped down before bowing to England and Wales and giving his report.

"M'lords—France has attacked our holdings in Aquitaine!" Wales took this news with a perverse stoicism, waiting for his drunken brother to decide what to do.

"That ars'." England shook his head. "What's he want with Aquit—acquit—acquit himself. Tell Edwar' to acquit himself best'ee'can."

"Tell him to defend Aquitaine, m'lord?"

"Defend, yes… why jus' defend? We c'n do bettr…" England set his glass down and leaned forward. "Take it all," he said, suddenly coherent. "Take the crown." And then all the strength drained out of him, and Wales barely caught him before he hit the floor.

…

When he awoke, he found that his king had declared war on France. England had barely gotten his hangover under control when he was given command of a regiment and told to fight.

And he fought, for five generations of human life, with France always just out of reach, behind the front lines, laughing at him.

Every time an Englishman was killed, by blade or arrow, by hunger or disease, England felt it. Every time an Englishman was captured, every time an English archer was mutilated by the French army, or maybe even by the bastard himself, England felt it. After a generation or so, the first two fingers on his right hand throbbed almost constantly. He trained himself to fight left-handed, for when the pain was worst.

In spite of all the pain, he was making advances. He fortified Aquitaine, and pressed on into Normandy. He won more than he lost, even after he met France's new lover. His name was Spain; he was France's neighbor to the south; and his drawling accent and laid-back manner infuriated England to no end, especially after Spain sank half of England's navy.

Yes, the boy was brainless. Perfect for France to boss around, England told himself after that first battle. God, was he glad to be free of the bastard! Even if it meant inflicting this kind of pain on himself, it would never again be him under France's thumb.

…

He finally saw the bastard in person nearly a hundred years after the start of the war. They met in a forest near Calais, England with his young king Henry, France with his foppish Charles. There were too few English soldiers, but enough of them were bowmen that they had a chance. Henry hid his men in and between the trees, and from this vantage England could clearly see France on his horse, scanning the clearing, looking for him.

The French formed up in three lines. The first couldn't see the Englishmen hiding in the trees, and England and his soldiers cut them down easily. England saw France wince with every arrow. _That's right, frog._

The second line, the English men-at-arms took care of. The third, when they advanced, turned pale at the sight of their dead countrymen and ran away. France looked frantically about, and yelled for his men to regroup, come back, don't let them die in vain! But fear, in the French, is stronger than honor. France eventually sighed and looked up at the tree in which England was hiding.

England stood up in the branches and raised his right hand with the first two fingers extended. _I've still got 'em. What can you do about it?_ Then he jumped backwards out of the tree, landed lightly, and vanished into the forest.

That battle, at Agincourt, was the high point of the war for England. Not even defeating his brother Scotland, who had allied himself with France, felt so good. Then, suddenly, England was no longer winning. In fourteen twenty-nine, a young woman took control of France's army. _So you've started bedding humans, frog. Good for you._ The girl general drove England's army away from Orléans, then decimated it at Patay. England was unhorsed in that battle, and as he lay in the mud with broken ribs, France appeared.

"Do you like her, kid?" he taunted. "Her name's Joan. She's pretty good." Then he laughed and walked away. England was in too much pain to reply.

…

Joan's leadership gave the French army unusual courage. England lost battle after battle over the next twenty-five years, until he was finally forced back to his own island. When he reached home, he paid a brief visit to his mother's grave, then went inside and collapsed into bed, grateful that the war was over.

But it wasn't, not quite. Barely two years after the fighting ended, England's noblemen began fighting each other. For thirty years after that, Britain was not himself. He became dizzy whenever he stood up; when men from Lancaster and York visited him, to try to convince him to choose a side, he could not speak to them because the thought of it made him nauseous.

Finally, one day, he felt better. He went into London, to the palace, and met his new king for the first time: Henry the Seventh, of the house of Tudor. The crown prince was Arthur, named for him, and his younger brother was Henry, named for his father. Arthur was bright but sickly; Henry, robust but not very intelligent. England personally didn't expect much out of either of them.


	5. queens in spades

By fourteen ninety-three, England had achieved a certain peace of mind—and then it was shattered by news from Spain. He had sent a ship full of Italians and Jews across the Atlantic on a fool's errand, and they had come back proclaiming that a western route to the Indies had been found. England lost little time in hiring his own Italian expatriate, a man named Cabot, to find an even faster route. Cabot seemed to find what he was looking for, and for a few years he was a hero, but his achievements were soon overshadowed by the marriage of Prince Arthur to Catherine of Aragon. England and Spain toasted the royal couple together, and for once England felt like the future would be more peaceful than the past.

Then Prince Arthur died. Later, England would say he'd expected it, but when it happened he, like everyone else, was shocked. Luckily for the kingdom, the Pope favored stability over absolute virtue, and allowed Prince Henry to marry Catherine. So it was that Arthur's tactless younger brother took both his wife and his throne.

…

As king, Henry insisted on picking fights with Scotland, against whom he won, and France, against whom he often lost. England didn't need military victories—not if the king died without an heir. Catherine made a capable regent, but she would never truly be a queen—a woman could not rule in her own name. Her purpose was to give Henry an heir, and she did not do that well at all. It took her five years to conceive, and then she gave birth to a girl, the Princess Mary.

England tried to hide his disappointment, and to focus on other problems. A new one arose immediately: the German monk from the Holy Roman Empire who insisted on translating the Bible into vernacular. The monk, Martin Luther, and the speed with which he gained followers, alarmed England; gradually he communicated this alarm to Henry, who was more interested in finding a replacement for his queen, who it seemed could not bear a son. At some point the message sank in, and Henry would be named "Defender of the Faith" for his rejection of Luther's perversion of Christianity.

Soon, however, Luther's ideas became useful to King Henry. Catherine had a certain lady-in-waiting, tall, dark Anne Boleyn, who had caught Henry's eye. One mustn't say it was the king's eye that roved of its own accord. The court as a whole decided that Anne Boleyn had caught it through black magic. Rumors flew. England, who knew black magic when he saw it, was at once excited and annoyed by the rumors. The day he met Anne Boleyn, he knew that apart from her beauty, there was nothing special or magical about her. Court life began to give him a headache.

Anne Boleyn was the king's mistress—or one of them—for a full two years before Henry decided he wanted his marriage annulled. That the Church forbade divorces mattered not at all—Henry dismissed the Lord Chancellor for reminding him of it. The king was soon wed to Anne Boleyn. Hopes were high…until she too gave birth to a daughter, whom she named Elizabeth.

To justify his marriage to Anne Boleyn (and possibly to justify further annulments), Henry named himself the leader of the Church of England, and beheaded a couple of bishops who refused to acknowledge him. Riots began, as the king sent soldiers to enforce his new religion; England lay awake many nights, racked with pain and the knowledge that his king was turning everything upside-down.

One of the worst nights was two years later. Wales had finally sworn allegiance to England, and had begun to call him by an absurd bureaucratic name. He came home one evening to find England drunk and vomiting into a gutter.

"Britain! Britain, England, what's happened?"

England looked up. "He wants," he said very slowly, "to kill the queen," and collapsed into his brother's arms. The next day, Anne Boleyn was arrested for treason. In short order, she was convicted and executed. That night, England had the worst headache he could remember; by the next evening, the king was betrothed again.

He was ill once more on Henry's wedding night. He had seen Jane Seymour in the church, and thought she was too good for Henry. She would make a good queen, symbolic of the stability of the realm, under other circumstances. But Henry seemed to be going through wives like he went through shirts. And he didn't listen to England; there was no way the nation could make him see sense.

Early in the next year, Jane Seymour gave birth—to a boy! Henry named him Edward, and joyfully declared him to be his heir and only legitimate child.

That evening he rode to his mother's grave. The house he had built so many years ago was gone, and a church had been built in its place. Still, his feet knew the way. He knelt beside the grave and whispered, "Mother, the king has an heir. All is well." But there was no reply.

It began to rain, but he stayed, waiting to hear his mother's voice, until a horseman came from the palace to bring him back.

Upon his return, he learned that the queen had died in childbirth.

…

He had migraines almost constantly now, and drinking only made them worse. One day, he was called from his rooms in the palace, so that the children could meet him. He stood there, hung over and feeling stupid, and unable to say anything more than the most banal pleasantries. Edward was two years old and uninterested; Mary, twenty-three and contemptuous. Elizabeth, on the other hand, curtsied and greeted him cheerfully. England kissed her hand, and the throbbing in his head made him wish he hadn't moved.

"Catherine," she said to the lady-in-waiting, "this man is the kingdom?" The lady-in-waiting nodded patiently, as if she disbelieved it.

"Catherine," young Elizabeth said, "the kingdom is unwell."

Those words echoed in his ears, and they would not go away. When he drank, with his brother or with soldiers, or more and more often alone, they only grew louder.

He became increasingly out of touch with life. One day, he woke to the news that Henry had married a fifth time, and the servant who had introduced England to Elizabeth was now queen.

"Five?" He counted on his fingers. Catherine of Aragon, Anne Boleyn, Jane Seymour…

"His Majesty did not feel it was necessary to consult you about Anne of Cleves. She was only married to His Majesty for a few months before he sought an annulment."

At that moment, England hated his king.

…

That was his low point, while Henry was in charge. Some prudent bureaucrat made the connection between England's health and the economy, and suggested that he have a visitor. This task was immediately undertaken by the seven-year-old Princess Elizabeth, who would be brought to his rooms once every month or two by a servant. The days blurred together; looking back, it seemed that she had been there every time he was conscious.

Out of those days, the one he remembered best was the day Catherine Howard was executed. He remembered it because it was the first time he'd ever seen Elizabeth cry. He wasn't sure what to do, but he hugged her awkwardly as she wept and railed against her father's cruelty: "I hate him. He doesn't care about his family!"

After a while, when the girl had calmed down somewhat, she proclaimed, "If I were queen, the whole kingdom would be my family, and I wouldn't let anybody hurt them!"

England believed her.

…

The king took another wife the next year, but England rarely saw her. He never left his rooms except on state occasions. He saw the new queen at Henry's funeral, after which she and fourteen-year-old Elizabeth left London. For a couple of years, he heard rumors about her life away from court, but his greater concern was with the new king, Edward the Sixth. Though he, like his uncle, had always been frail, Britain spent a good five years recovering under his rule. At the end of that time, however, Edward became ill, and died suddenly.

Once the dust settled, the Princess Mary had become queen, and had decreed that her mother's marriage to King Henry had never been annulled. That was all right with England; he looked forward to continuity. He also admired Queen Mary's resolve to return her people to Catholicism. But her methods…disturbed him. She imprisoned a number of people in the Tower of London on suspicion of rebellion, including her own sister. England knew that the charges were false, and pleaded with Mary to release her sister. Mary, though, had inherited her father's stubbornness, and refused to listen to him. Elizabeth would be moved from the Tower eventually, but remained a prisoner of the Crown.

In fifteen fifty-five, England's people, who had so recently been converted to a new church, began to resist the move back to Catholicism. When Mary became aware of the rebellion, she began ordering everyone who resisted her policies burnt at the stake as heretics. The peace that England had so recently achieved was shattered.

…

He refused to sleep. Day after day the screams of innocent Englishmen echoed in his head; when he slept, they were only louder. He ate little, and every night he paced out the length of his bedroom, counting the steps, trying to remember spells, the names of the fae kings, his mother's stories, anything to distract himself from the fires in his mind. When he became too tired to pace, he lay down and watched the cracks in the ceiling writhe, or perhaps by then he was dreaming.

The royal doctors were called, but there was nothing their art could do to ease his pain. When they left him, he thought Mary came, the pale, haughty princess, and looked at him for the first time, and asked "Who are you?"

"The kingdom is unwell," little Elizabeth replied.

Sometime after that, the need for sleep overcame his resolve.

…

He woke to a touch on his arm and the light of a nervous servant's candle. It was quiet. He shielded his eyes and asked hoarsely, "What is it?"

"Lord Kirkland," said the servant, "I was told to wake you for the coronation. It starts in six hours."

"Coronation?" England echoed, not sure if he'd heard correctly.

"Yes, sir," the servant said. "The Princess Elizabeth is to be queen."

England sprang out of bed.


	6. in sickness and in health

Elizabeth was Queen. He didn't truly believe it until he saw the crown on her head. She was more beautiful than he had ever seen her, but just as graceful and gracious. He bowed to her as she passed him, and she nodded back.

They met again at the end of the procession, and she asked him, "How fares the kingdom?"

He shrugged. "Not as well as it would like, Your Majesty; but better now that you are Queen." She smiled.

In the years that followed, the Queen kept her childhood promise and nursed England to full health, through both legislation and care to the Nation himself. She re-established the Anglican Church and commissioned a prayer book. With England's reluctant agreement, she established peace with France; the two nations, though wary of each other, would not fight during Elizabeth's life. And she summoned England as often as she could for advice, and news of her people.

England first realized that he was in love with his young Queen when smallpox struck London. England himself was not affected, but he felt his people's pain, and knew when Elizabeth fell ill. Day after day he sat at her bedside and prayed, to God, to his mother, to anyone who was listening, that the Queen be saved, not simply because she was the last of her bloodline, but because he'd found he genuinely enjoyed her company, like no one's since…he refused to think about that.

When her fever broke, he was there. Upon seeing him, she tried to sit up, then contented herself with saying "Mr. Kirkland—you came."

He took her hand. "Of course I did," he said.

The very next summer, London was again struck—this time by the Black Death. Bess (as she now insisted England call her in private) moved the court to Windsor, and ordered that anyone who came from London be hanged so the plague did not spread. That did not, however, stop Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots from sending a messenger, asserting her right to the throne. Bess had refused to meet with Mary before; and again she asserted herself as queen. England was, for neither the first nor the last time, proud of her.

* * *

Mary Stuart would continue to cause trouble, wedding nobles, starting revolts, and soon enough abdicating in favor of her young son James; but Bess had more to worry about than a rival for the throne. For one thing, the Catholics that remained in the country were determined to replace her with someone more sympathetic to them. They gained the support of the Pope, and might have succeeded had England not become aware of the plot and alerted Bess, who had the ringleaders arrested and executed.

Catholics notwithstanding, Parliament seemed intent on making her give the throne up altogether, by getting married. The government was full of eligible noblemen, but none of them could keep Bess's attention for very long, and no one ever guessed the reason.

The Queen declared herself wed to the kingdom, but only she and England knew how literally she meant it. The first time they'd made love was at Windsor, in the face of the plague. After that, he had trouble keeping a straight face when anyone mentioned the "Virgin Queen." But it hurt, that his desires conflicted so with the government's, and when Bess began marriage negotiations with the Duke of Anjou, a French nobleman, he made excuses not to attend, so as not to give France the satisfaction of seeing him thus troubled. (Later he would learn that his people disliked the idea of Bess marrying a Frenchman as much as (or perhaps therefore) he did.)

* * *

But the negotiations ran on and off, and in between, England found he was growing stronger. He'd had the idea, after a while, of taming the pirates that plagued his shores by hiring them to rob his enemies. Bess warmed to the idea as one bold captain, Francis Drake, took the job and began returning to London with ship after ship full of Spanish silver. She even had him knighted, after he proved himself by sailing around the world.

Some believed that he was the Queen's lover. France, who was at Drake's dubbing, knew better, and confronted England, or tried to. England refused to look at him during the ceremony, and afterwards brushed by him with a cough that sounded oddly like "Jeanne D'Arc."

Drake went back to plundering the Spanish, and other explorers sailed to the New World. Among them was Walter Raleigh, who in fifteen eighty-four established a colony on Roanoake Island in the Virginia area (named for the Queen; England couldn't hear the name without sniggering).

* * *

The Duke of Anjou's health declined, as did his military strength; Bess ended her engagement to him, and he died soon thereafter. Britain's relief at that Bess would not have to marry was countered abruptly by the realization that she was nearly fifty years old, and he, to all appearances, was a youth of barely twenty. Someday soon the woman he loved would leave him forever.

He put the thought out of his mind—until he discovered a plot led by one Anthony Babington to assassinate Bess and put Mary Stuart on the throne. The conspirators, including Mary Stuart, were arrested and executed, but England was once again shaken by the idea of his Queen's mortality. Bess, however, seemed less worried. "You have things to do besides worry about me," she assured him.

These "things" included making friends with his eldest brother and making war on Spain. The first was relatively easy: Scotland felt threatened by their Catholic neighbors (France and Spain), and was happy to accept his brother's offer of an alliance. The anniversary of their mother's death came, and three sons of Britannia met at her grave to pay their respects.

"I wonder," said Wales, already half-drunk, "if we'll ever all live under the same roof again." Scotland scoffed—he liked his independence quite well, thank you—but England liked the idea. Someday soon, he told himself, Britannia's four sons would live together, in the house he had built.

* * *

Thoughts like these made him feel stronger, and more determined to prosecute the second "thing." The war with Spain had begun the year before the treaty with Scotland, over territory in the New World and the Low Countries. Bess had made herself Holland's protector, and Holland and England sailed into battle together under the command of Sir Francis Drake. They were present in August of eighty-eight when their forces completely destroyed the grand Spanish armada off the English coast; and England was home in time to hear Bess give a speech to the reserve forces at Tilbury:

_Let tyrants fear, I have always so behaved myself, that under God I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects; and, therefore, I am come amongst you as you see at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of battle, to live or die amongst you all — to lay down for my God, and for my kingdoms, and for my people, my honour and my blood even in the dust._

The war with Spain would last another fifteen years, but at that moment victory had never seemed closer, and England had never been so in love with his queen.

* * *

The Black Death struck London again in the summer of ninety-three. Hundreds died, and England himself became ill worrying about his people. But as the weather cooled, and he recovered, he found that his troubles refused to go away. For one thing, Bess was at odds with Parliament again; she claimed the right to veto anything they did. One thing they did accomplish, though, was to make Catholicism a crime in England. Once again, England found himself torn between his people's factions. On Sunday mornings, between the words of the service, a little girl's promise rang hollow in his ears.

He confronted her about it one day. "Whatever happened to 'all the kingdom is my family'?" he asked bitterly.

"My people need a mother," she said, "to teach them what is right." England had his doubts, but there must have been some truth to it, because he knew he still loved his aging queen.

Other troubles came once again from abroad. The British and Spanish fleets were still going back and forth about territory—Spain looted Penzance, England took Cadiz. Closer to home, the Irish were getting restless. England, occupied with petty bureaucratic matters in the capital, never met his brother on the battlefield, but felt every blow. It hurt worst when one of Bess's favored generals, the Earl of Essex, signed a truce with Ireland's rebels. Bess had him arrested and executed. There was altogether too much death going around, England sighed into a pint glass. Wales, still somewhat sore over being annexed, agreed with him.

But the turn of the century was not all unpleasant. An ancient form of entertainment, the theatre, had come back into favor with England's nobility. One summer evening, England took Bess to the new Globe Theatre to see a play in five acts by a local playwright, Will Shakespeare. It was a comedy of lovers and faeries, magic and mistakes, and England and his Queen enjoyed it immensely.

* * *

Expeditions to the New World, trade with neighboring nations, and (dare he say it) the peace with France had strengthened England's economy. When Bess chartered the East India Company, England was in finer health than he had been in over a century. Bess, on the other hand, was growing frail. She was nearly seventy years old, and in faltering health. Yet she remained tenacious, and secure in the knowledge that her nation (and her Nation) loved her. And in her final speech to Parliament, she acknowledged that love, and returned it: "Though you have had and may have many mightier and wiser princes sitting on this seat, yet you never had nor shall have any that will love you better."

Years before, England had moved back to his old apartments in the palace, as people noticed that Lord Kirkland was now young enough to be the Queen's son. So he did not know, one morning late in March of sixteen-oh-three, when she refused to awaken. He learned of his beloved queen's death hours later, when he heard heralds outside proclaiming the accession of his brother's king to the throne as James the First of England.

* * *

**A/N:** Bess supposedly had a French nobleman knight Francis Drake, as this would symbolize that France supported England over Spain. That's why France is there. Drake was also only second in command of the English navy, but he made most of the decisions because he had more experience at sea than the nominal commander, Lord Howard of Effingham.

Speech at Tillbury quoted from Wikipedia; Golden Speech quoted from _Great Tales from English History_ by Robert Lacey

The colony at Roanoke vanished mysteriously; its disappearance was discovered by Sir Walter Raleigh in 1590.

The Globe Theatre was built in 1599; there's a tradition in historical literature that Queen Elizabeth attended a performance of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. I think England would have gone too, if only to see faeries in the city.

When you write the word "Queen" too many times, this might happen: *clears throat* Is this the real life, is this just fantasy? Caught in a laaandsliide, no escape from realiteee…*thinks about it* Then again, that's about how England feels at this point. So it works.


	7. under one roof

The next few days were blurry. He remembered the funeral, and then rain, and ale, and Wales trying to talk to him.

"Britain, you knew this was coming. She was human."

"You don't think I _know_ that? Yes, she was human. Have you ever loved a woman, Wales?"

"Britain, I—"

When the fog in England's head cleared, he was on a ship, out of sight of land, and there were men, humans, awaiting his orders. The flag at the top of the world was black.

For the two years that followed, Arthur Kirkland was a name that every self-respecting pirate feared. He was known as a heavy drinker, a fierce brawler, and overall a complete scoundrel. But this way was better, he told himself. As long as he didn't think about Bess, or his brothers, or his mother, he would be fine.

Then came the day in November when he stopped breathing, and realized that he could never stop being a Nation.

A traitor had been captured—someone who could have destroyed him, had he succeeded. The man was a Catholic—that didn't surprise England at all. All this he knew, lying gasping on a Jamaican tavern floor, and he also knew that someone was coming for him.

They came sooner than he expected, on a ship flying a strange flag, red and white crosses on a blue field. Scotland himself had come, to bring him home. Discovering the Catholic rebel, and the conspiracy he belonged to, had convinced King James, that England needed to return to his land.

* * *

He moved back into his rooms in the palace, and Scotland returned to his home in the north. England arrived just in time to see off a ship belonging to the Virginia Company, which set out to carve itself a colony in the New World's wilderness. Years later, the Company would bring back a spectacle: a savage princess, whom they paraded about London till she died of consumption. The visit by the princess Pocahontas was taken by England's people as proof that they could gain a foothold in the New World; many more Englishmen and –women set off for America, in search of the riches and freedom it promised. England was shocked to realize how many of his people were dissatisfied.

But there was change at home as well. King James, who had to some extent respected England's opinions, died in sixteen twenty-five. When his son Charles took the throne, he wanted nothing to do with anyone who disagreed with him. He refused to listen to England's opinions, or those of the Parliament, to the point that he disbanded Parliament several times, and made a royal council, the Star Chamber, the country's supreme legislative and judicial authority. It answered only to Charles, who was quick to order floggings and public humiliation for his opponents. As the King became more and more ruthless, England found himself turning to drink once again, to distract himself from the pain his people were in. (If only Bess…never mind.)

* * *

He was summoned to rejoin the world again in the sixteen-forties. Charles's treatment of his subjects, and his ambition to conquer Scotland and Ireland, had sparked a war bloodier than any in three hundred years. England was torn from the beginning: he applauded his king's plan to reunite him with his brothers, but his people feared the changes that such a union might bring. So he was also, for the first time, seriously worried about his future.

But the question was soon decided for him. Charles left London in a hurry, and the city became the province of the rebels, who supported rule by Parliament. Within the first year of the war, the Parliamentarians had won a decisive battle, and England found himself fighting against his king, on the side of the ambitious Oliver Cromwell.

Charles soon found himself on the run. He turned himself in to the Scots, who gave him right back. England was by now fully convinced that his King had betrayed his people. At his urging, Parliament got its act together for long enough to try Charles, find him guilty of treason, and behead him for it.

The leaders of the rebellion went on to create a new government for themselves. It was a Commonwealth state, with no king and no lords, and Oliver Cromwell had made himself one of its leaders.

Despite all the horrors of the war, all the men he had seen die for the cause they believed in, England knew that this was his chance to reunite his family under his rule. A few carefully chosen words in Cromwell's ear, and war was declared on the Irish Confederates and the Scottish Royalists, who had supported King Charles. When England and his brothers met again, they were all four weak from fighting each other.

* * *

But things couldn't get much worse, so they started to get better. The year that Cromwell conquered the Scots was the year a ship returned from the Indies with a plant called _tea_. England quickly acquired a taste for it, though he could never quite convince his brothers that it was as good as ale.

In the next year, Cromwell humbly accepted the title of Lord Protector, which effectively made him England's ruler. Wales and Scotland made fun of Cromwell behind his back, but he was their Lord Protector as well.

By the year sixteen fifty-three, the four sons of Britannia lived together in the house the youngest had built for them. Though it would not be official for another fifty years, they were once more a united country. And England, who was now Britain, knew that wherever his mother was, she was proud of him.

* * *

Omake: aph. starry-sky. com/ sntr. html (remove spaces) This happened next.

**A/N:** Thanks to katzsoa for being such a patient and encouraging beta.


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